The Last Secret Kept
by Addicts Inc
Summary: It only took three years, but Harry finally got round to investigating Sirius' will. In doing so he found a bike named Rachel, was poisoned by a family heirloom and discovered a forgotten Black house, which has secrets all of its own...
1. Chapter 1

**The Last Secret Kept - Chapter One**

Harry Potter sat in a rectangle of pale sun. It was shining through the attic window of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. He had begun on his next project – find out exactly what his godfather, Sirius Black, had left for him in his will. It had been Arthur Weasley who had suggested it. When Harry had first been told he was the sole beneficiary of his godfather's will, he hadn't been very interested. Then, as time had progressed and he had come to terms with Sirius' death, Harry had embarked upon what he thought was a one-way trip to destroy the Horocruxes and ultimately Lord Voldemort. And now that was complete; Harry was at a bit of a loose end.

He had spent a while determinedly drinking. Not alcoholism, as he kept stressing to Ginny, just determined drinking. Talking of Ginny, Harry's stomach did a funny twist, but he was well used to that now. It was generally a mix of nerves, regret, love, guilt and loss. They had tried, several times, to re-start their relationship, but everything still felt so – precarious, and as though nothing in their lives was tied down. So now they lived in an uneasy, yet simultaneously comfortable, hiatus.

After graduating Hogwarts, Harry had always assumed he would become an Auror. There was one major problem with that – he had never graduated Hogwarts. And although he had one honorary NEWT (Defence Against the Dark Arts), and one honorary BAT (Beastly Advanced Training – the level above NEWTs that were taught and examined in specific career training; Harry's was in Concealment), he had none of the other qualifications needed. So he decided to begin and complete the task he had been meaning to do for years; sort through Sirius' things and define his inheritance.

Harry had looked through countless photo albums; it had been inevitable, they were the most used objects by Sirius, and so were the closet to the hatch that led into the attic. He had caught numerous infections and wounds from obscure objects that were either charmed against intrusion or Very Dark. He also found the keys to Rachel – the red motorbike that Harry had seen photos of and heard stories about that had once flown Sirius across the country. Now, he held the keys in one hand, and a small slip of paper in the other.

The slip had been found inside a small parchment envelope, closely guarded by several nasty spells and hexes, a few of which Harry had fallen foul of. But the thing that kept Harry coming back to this envelope, and not putting it in the Dangerous Things Pile with the others, was himself. For the envelope had been addressed to Harry. Sort of. Well yes, actually, it had. In Sirius' expensively taught copper-plate writing, there read the following words '_For the sole eyes of my inheritor_.' And, once that was crossed out, underneath it read; '_For the sole eyes and ears and memory of Harry James Potter, upon my death_.'

It had taken Harry three weeks to open that envelope, and now he had done it, entirely by accident. As he had pulled Rachel's keys out of the sealed box, he had caught his fingers on a splinter sticking out of the lid. A drop of blood had fallen and splashed upon the envelope in the box. Harry had watched, fascinated, as the blood had wormed its way, purposefully across the parchment towards the seal, where it pooled, and disappeared. Then the seal had split of its own accord, and Harry had drawn the slip of parchment out. 

'_Northwood House – Cannis Road, Cawood Common, Leeds, Yorkshire_.' 

Those eight words were all that was written upon the page. Harry pondered this, as he sat, looking out of the attic window onto Grimmauld Place. It was an address clearly, and address only Harry could know – but what was waiting for him there? Harry was sorely tempted to tell Hermione or Ron, but he trusted Sirius, and Sirius had expressly said that it was for Harry's '_eyes and ears and memory'_ only. Harry gave up. He stuffed Rachel's keys in his pocket, and disapperated.

There was an unpleasant squeezing sensation, and Harry found himself sitting in the middle of an attic. He looked around him and swore. He was still in Number Twelve. He tried again. The third time he failed, he tried apperating somewhere else. Anywhere, it seemed, he could apperate to – anywhere but Northwood House. "Apparition block." He muttered darkly. He had come across them before, and the intensified squeezing feeling was definitely familiar. Harry sat down heavily. He couldn't take the Knight Bus, or Floo Powder – anywhere that had blocked against apparition surely would block against them too. Flying it was.

Harry clattered down the stairs, drawing whimpers from a portrait of a young child on the second floor and headed for the cupboard for his broom. But as soon as he had flung it open, he changed his mind. With a sly grin, Harry pulled Rachel's keys out of his pocket. So, Rachel the flying motorbike was lost, was she? Well, Sirius had never had the chance to look for her. And Harry had a sneaking suspicion he knew where she was.


	2. Chapter 2

The Last Secret Kept – Chapter Two

Harry apparated to Hogsmead, and walked for quarter of an hour to Hagrid's Hut. It was the holidays, so he would set off no intruder alarms, but he knew that Hagrid had no other home. It took him barely half an hour to swing the conversation around to the bike that Hagrid had borrowed from Sirius almost twenty years ago. The last Hagrid had seen of it, it had been dashing away from him as he wandered through the forest one day.

* * *

><p>Rachel really was a nice bike. Harry thought ruefully. She stood in front of him, skittishly. He wasn't sure if his sanity was intact if he was thinking of a bike as being in a skittish mood, but he <em>had<em> just chased her across half the Forbidden Forest. She was a bright, vibrant red, although there were patches of rust and grime on her. But considering she'd lived in that place for nineteen years, Harry had to admit she was bearing up well. "Rachel?" He asked, holding out her keys towards her. He had brought a picture of Sirius along with him, just in case.

"Okay, so here goes – _I am talking to a bike_. Okay. So, Rachel," best start things light, "you remember Sirius?" The bike revved its engine. No, not _its_ engine, Sirius had once told Harry the bike was temperamental, he would have to make sure he called it a _her_ and _she_ and _Rachel_. Not _it_. "Yeah. Remember his friends? There was one who looked like me. Can you see, actually? I don't know. But yeah, I'm his son. You may remember me, actually. You once took me from a ruined house to a very pretentious one in Surrey. In his will, Sirius entrusted me with you…"

* * *

><p>Harry flew over Leeds. It was weird, being on a flying motorbike. Harry had never ridden one before, flying or not. Ignoring his brief stint when he was a baby, clearly. Rachel had been, <em>temperamental<em>, when Harry had first tried to ride her. But he had cleaned her up a bit, and now the only problems he had was she occasionally stuttered and her engine choked. Harry wasn't sure if she didn't trust him, or if she was crying for Sirius.

"_Point me_!" He angled Rachel to where his wand indicated; they were flying low over a small village on the outskirts of Leeds. When his wand began giving out slightly confused directions, Harry assumed that they must either be above the House or very close, so he landed in the nearest village and took it from there. As luck would have it, the village was Cawood Common. He had asked a local and ridden the bike like a muggle towards Cannis Road. He was lucky that Rachel was 'an intelligent girl' as Sirius had once put it, because he had no idea how to ride a motorbike. But now solving Sirius' mystery was far more important than something as minor as his own safety.

"Cannis Road…Cannis Road…Cannis R – Cannis Road!" Harry turned right onto Cannis Road and trundled down it slowly. He travelled along for some time, for it was a long, entirely rural lane, with no houses on either side. Harry was beginning to think he had missed it. Then, on his left he abruptly came across a thin drive, winding out of sight. There was sign on the wrought iron gate that read '_Northwood House – Toujours Pur – 1656'. _"Well Rachel," Harry said quietly, "we're here. Onwards?" Much to Harry's surprise, the bike revved up and sped forward of her own accord. Harry was starting to think that his godfather hadn't been imagining things about this bike. 

The driveway was, of course, not wide enough for a car, it was more a pathway, suited for one or two people. No doubt the entrance onto the road was an apparition point. Either side of the pathway there were tall, imposing trees that cut out most of the light, but between their tall, thin, straight trunks, Harry could see rural rolling Yorkshire countryside. Stretching for miles either side of him. He had never heard of another Black family home. It was a pity, Harry reflected, Sirius could have remained in hiding here, and run about the countryside – there would be no one to watch him here.

* * *

><p>Rachel stopped suddenly in front of the large country house that now rose before them. She swerved to a halt and put her own kickstand down. Harry looked up. It was a large, grimy looking building of a pale yellowish stone with black windowsills and door. But as Harry continued staring in trepidation at the House, he noticed that there was a grew stone tower peering over the roof line from behind the house, and a glass conservatory to the right, a wood and clay building attached the left of the main building, and a red brick one attached to that.<p>

Over all, Northwood House looked like a patchwork of different styles, owners and ages. It was as though every different generation had pulled down part of the inherited structure and had built something of their own in addition. Harry wondered what, if anything, Sirius had done to it. The trees stopped abruptly several meters from the double front door, ending in a semi circle of weed-strewn gravel. "Here goes nothing." Harry whispered.

He slipped his wand up his sleeve and pulled his jacket closer around his neck. Harry paused at the door; there was the same slightly morbid knocker as on Grimmauld Place. He had already lifted it before he remembered that this was an empty house. Feeling slightly foolish, and not a little apprehensive, he let it back into place soundlessly and put his hand on the blackened silver handle. A warm tingling spread through his fingers. No curse was flung at him, and Harry assumed that the House had recognised it's owner, for the door swung open easily, revealing a long and spacious hall that stretched the whole length of the house back, ending in a ceiling height window that over looked cultivated gardens.

All in all, the house was in a lot better upkeep than Harry had anticipated. Everything looked in working order, and there was no smell of rot or decay like there had been in Number Twelve; all the doors were fast closed, furniture was covered with dust sheets, carpet had been rolled up and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobweb. Harry supposed that this house had been regularly lived in, and had been packed away before the last inhabitant's death. Harry explored the imposing dusty corridors, and the dour spacious rooms. They all had an unmistakeable ominous, gloomy, melancholic feeling that was common with Number Twelve. It wasn't until Harry happened upon the kitchen that he realised something was up.

_Clean_. That was Harry's first thought as he opened the kitchen door. This door hadn't stuck with years of non-use. _Not clean._ Was his second thought. It was not dusty, and the curtains had been opened and windows de-cobwebbed to allow light into the yellow room. Yet there was a plate on the table, tea stains on the counter and a chair had been drawn out of the table. Harry quickly spun round and slammed the door behind him.

Harry hurried through a joining door, and found himself in a dark dining room, littered with papers and quills. The ink the bottle hadn't dried out. He followed a short path of dust-free floorboards through the room to another door; this one too opened easily and showed a small sitting room, where the furniture had been exposed and drawn closer together around the fire and window. A piano was open, and there was some sheet music on the stand. It was not yellowed with age.

He breathed deeply. This was Sirius' house. He had instructed Harry to come here. He would not lead his own godson into something dangerous. But then, this was a Black house, and Number Twelve was certainly dangerous. Mind you, it was dangerous, but there was nothing likely to jump out and Avada Kedavra you. So it followed that Sirius would have set his other house in similar order. But then a tiny, treacherous thought made itself felt in Harry's mind – Sirius had never specifically _asked_ or _told_ Harry to come here. He had merely given him the address.

The door behind him slammed against the wall as it was thrown back.

Harry jumped and pulled out his wand, spinning on the spot to face back the way he had come. The door had been flung open, and standing in the doorway, looking just as scared as he felt, stood a man Harry never thought he would see again.


	3. Chapter 3

The Last Secret Kept – Chapter Three

"Sirius?" Harry asked, breathlessly.

He hated himself for it, but he had idly imagined that Sirius would be hiding out here – his last bolthole. For in Harry's mind, Sirius wasn't the sort to actually _die_. He just wouldn't let that happen. His godfather was invincible. He had escaped Azkaban after all. Harry had always hoped that Sirius had been sent somewhere else – they had no proof that he had actually died. It was just a veil. He wasn't dead; Sirius had been waiting for Harry to find him. And it had taken Harry so long-

"N-no." The man in the threshold said croakily. He shook his head slowly. "Sirius… Sirius…I'm not-" He murmured. Then, slowly, his wand slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. He swayed slightly, and slid down the doorframe, sitting on the floor dazedly. "…no, _Sirius_."

Harry frowned in confusion. That wasn't Sirius' voice. He advanced on the man, wand still out. He waited until he was standing directly over the man, and stooped slowly, picking the other's wand up from the floor and straightening up almost immediately. "Who _are_ you?" Harry asked in a hollow voice. He had almost convinced himself that Sirius was back. He had been stupid. So _stupid_.

"I assume that you are the legendary Harry James Potter?" The man asked quietly. "Of course you are. No one else could get here. I've been expecting you. Sirius is dead then?" He asked frankly. Harry nodded. The man didn't turn to see him, but his silence answered for him. "I, am Regulus Arcturus Black. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

* * *

><p>There was a silence in the room. A silence that seemed to press down upon Harry's shoulders. <em>R.A.B<em>.

"Actually, I am not pleased." Regulus continued quietly. "Because if you have found me, that means that you have found the note from Sirius, which means his will has been activated, and he is dead. I am not pleased about that. Not pleased at all. How did it happen?" He asked, suddenly turning to look at Harry.

"Erm…" Harry's voice appeared to have temporarily failed him. "…There was a fight, as the Ministry. Death Eaters and us. Sirius was pushed through some sort of Veil thing in the Department of Mysteries."

"Who did it?" Regulus asked, almost silently.

"Bellatrix Black."

Regulus sighed. "How long ago was it?"

"Four, five years?" Harry hadn't taken his wand off Regulus.

"I thought so. He hasn't been to see me in years. I lost track of time. I just wandered around the confines, waiting."

"Confines?"

"Oh. Have you not guessed yet?" Regulus asked, suddenly looking up. "After I destroyed the Dark Lord's Horocrux, I had to hide. So, I went to the one person I knew would not turn me over to the Death Eaters. Sirius. He's been my Secret Keeper ever since. Did you ever wonder why he couldn't be your parents' Keeper? Too risky having two Secrets in one soul. And now you are mine. My Keeper. Congratulations."

Harry backed away and sat down heavily on one of the sofas. "But, you're meant to be dead." He said slowly. "R.A.B. In the cave – you should have died after drinking that liquid. It almost killed Dumbledore, and he's the greatest wizard in a century."

"Ah," Regulus said lightly, "but it was not I who drank it, was it?" Seeing he wasn't understood, he continued; "Did you ever wonder why the Blacks only had one single, slightly demented House Elf? No, we had two. I took one with me, _she_ drank the potion. _She_ died."

"That's _horrible_." Harry said quietly. "You made her do that, for you?"

"What else are House Elves for?" Regulus asked with a shrug.

* * *

><p>Harry felt he was in some surreal dream. He and the previously dead R.A.B were sat in the small kitchen, nursing mugs of tea. The man opposite him seemed mostly normal, if unnervingly still, with a habit of watching him silently then bursting into long monologues. "Why haven't you starved?" Harry asked. "Four years without Sirius to bring you food? And how are you sane?"<p>

"You can preserve and multiply food with magic, once you have some to begin with, of course. I have eaten a lot of omelettes and carrots for the past four years." Regulus said grimly. "Sirius brought me scraps from the cook at Number Twelve. When he stayed here after his escape, he would catch me rabbits and pheasants." Harry wondered if he should say that the 'cook' wasn't an actual employee, but a friend's mother, taking refuge and solace in mass-cooking. He decided not. "And as for entertainment, to starve off the insanity? Well, Sirius brought me old exam papers, cross words, quizz books... And there is a good library in the basement – I have retaken all my NEWTs, and every NEWT offered by Hogwarts, many I had to start from scratch." He took a sip of tea. "If only they were current papers – I would be the most qualified man in Britain."

"So," Harry began brightly, "you could help me get my NEWTs?"

"If that is what it takes to keep you visiting once or twice a week. I have been very lonely."

"I'm not Sirius." Harry warned, wary of being molded into a dead man's image.

"Neither am I."

"You know," Harry said slowly, "now that Voldemort's dead, and most of the Death Eater's have been rounded up, I bet we could get the Wizengmot to clear you. They cleared Sirius. Posthumously, irritatingly. And Snape. If we point out how you destroyed a Horocrux for the good of mankind. No more Fidelius Charm..."

Regulus stared at Harry, hardly daring to believe his ears. "I could, I could leave this house, I could be free. Free to make my own choices, to see the sunrise in Devon, to go to the theatre, to make my own way in the world, to travel, to go on my own journey...I could be _free_…"

Harry regarded the man skeptically. "Yeah, and I could get a job."

_-Fin-_


End file.
